


ocean and a rock

by sayounarahitori



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayounarahitori/pseuds/sayounarahitori
Summary: There is comfort in Doyoung’s touch, one that comes without words, without talking it through at all — they talk about other things, the group and the industry and the past and the future, and at some point Taeyong realises that he’s started thinking of Doyoung as something like his second-in-command, someone who will always help, who will always stand by his side. The thought is thrilling, calming and exciting all at once.The other things happen unspoken, for the most part.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung & Lee Taeyong, Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 27
Kudos: 289
Collections: (let's get away) just the two of us: dotae fan week 2020





	ocean and a rock

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to [yongpoetry](https://twitter.com/yongpoetry) for inspiring this with all our conversations & giving some good advice that made this fic better, and to [doyoubuns](https://twitter.com/doyoubuns) for the endless support! <3
> 
> title from lisa hannigan's [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvVg4dbwAs8) which i think fits them perfectly.
> 
> written for [dotaeweek 2020](https://twitter.com/dotaefanweek), day 2: comfort/separation

Doyoung furrows his brow, and Taeyong's heart flutters.

Doyoung checks his suitcase to see if he's packed everything, and Taeyong wants to reach out a hand and — touch him, maybe.

Doyoung messages him stupid funny things because he knows Taeyong is nervous before their first performances as NCT 127, even though they are barely apart for more than an hour at a time, and Taeyong thinks he might just run and jump into his arms.

He confesses it, solemnly, to Youngho in the quiet of their room, one day. Youngho is understanding — no surprise there, — listening without interrupting, but after Taeyong's done, he says, "Are you sure you don't just really like the way he takes care of you?"

And, well.

Taeyong — he does like it. He likes it too much. Maybe Youngho was right, maybe he just — got caught up in the way Doyoung is so gentle, and caring, and fretful, and kind, and observant, and— right.

It's not long until they end up in the same bed, but not in the way Taeyong could maybe imagine — just two very tired members of the same group, crashing almost where they stood. It's just a double bed in a hotel room. Doyoung is just his best friend, not that Taeyong has told him that, because it's too easy to assume he might not be Doyoung's, too easy to imagine his face twisting in surprise and sympathy — or pity.

It's easy, it's comfortable. They had laid like this before, before they became NCT, not too long ago, and it always brought special comfort for Taeyong, and he always knew it couldn't last, always had to extricate himself from Doyoung's embrace, because — because. It was something unknown, something frightening, something he couldn’t deal with yet.

(He didn't know what he feared more, sometimes — that Doyoung loved him or that he didn't.)

Here, they have no choice, and Taeyong gives in happily, too happily for someone who usually pushes Doyoung away when there's a camera in front of them.

But now, there aren't any cameras; now, there are only the two of them, and the bed, and Doyoung already smells fresh and clean, and Taeyong is too tired to do more than splash his face a couple times, but it's alright. It's okay.

They settle into the bed softly, quietly, and a couple minutes pass before they move closer, before the inevitable happens and they are entwined, limb to limb.

Taeyong’s heart is hammering as he feels Doyoung’s hand gently brush the hair from his face. He doesn’t even know what he’s scared of — just that he is, just that this feels monumental somehow, inexplicably heavy, only possible in the darkness of this room, a room they will be leaving tomorrow.

Maybe that’s what lets him lean in, nosing at Doyoung’s cheek, as if he hasn’t been running from everything his brain deemed too intimate for a couple years already. As if the unfamiliar surroundings will protect him – them – from the harsh tomorrow, where they will have to once again deal with all the aspects of the idol life. He knows it’s stupid, to think that a private hotel room offers them any protection, but his mind has already labeled this as a sanctuary, and — and Taeyong is tired of running.

There’s a gaping hole inside him which is just now getting filled, overwhelmingly, by an avalanche of sensations pouring in, where previously all he allowed was a few drops here and there. He can feel Doyoung’s breath on his cheek, slightly shuddery, and it makes him want to jump out of his skin — and, and he doesn’t know what, what else, all at once content with the moment and wanting, aching for more. He keeps expecting Doyoung to say something, to break this moment, or maybe to – what, intensify it? But Doyoung seems just as entranced, just as hesitant, and the idea of them being… on the same page, here, now, makes Taeyong’s whole body turn to jelly.

They lie like this – for minutes, or maybe hours, until Taeyong can’t remember the world outside of Doyoung’s touches, his warm palms stroking Taeyong’s skin, settling on his back, legs intertwined with his. In turn, he dares to grasp Doyoung’s waist with his hands — his stupidly thin waist, and something in Taeyong aches, thinking of how Doyoung frets over his eating habits and neglects his own meals sometimes. He wants to be better, he wants to be someone Doyoung can also depend on, someone he can lean on and trust. There, in the quiet darkness, he finds the strength he needs, the strength to reach out and hold on.

*

They kiss sometimes.

It starts — stupid, it starts really stupid, Taeyong complaining that all the people his age usually have already kissed someone, usually more than once (usually more than kissed) — mostly just for the sake of complaining, because it’s not like he has _time_ or energy or even the desire majority of the time, and it’s a stupid thing to complain about. Which is why he’s talking about it with Doyoung. Some part of Taeyong, a small, shameful part, just wants to... push him, sometimes, just to see how he’ll react, just to check if he will stick with Taeyong after. Even after three, wait, no, four years of knowing him, there are still moments when Doyoung surprises him, and maybe sometimes Taeyong gets scared that he will accidentally discover a hitherto unknown soft, tender spot, a place where the fragile glass is especially thin, and Doyoung will… not be the same as before. He is afraid, but he can’t resist it, pushing in little increments when he could’ve just let them and their relationship be.

He doesn’t expect Doyoung to just turn to him and plant a short kiss on his lips.

“There,” Doyoung says, and he doesn’t flush much or easily, but Taeyong is goggling at him, and he swears he can see the skin of Doyoung’s neck get redder, “now you have.”

It’s quiet after that, Doyoung excusing himself to the room he shares with Mark soon thereafter, leaving Taeyong to stew in his own thoughts.

He’s the one who kisses Doyoung next — just leans over and plants one on his cheek, after Doyoung “randomly” makes his favorite dish one summer evening. Maybe it doesn’t even count — Taeil who’s sitting at the kitchen table certainly doesn’t bat a single eyelash, — but Taeyong can see Doyoung a little flustered, a little jittery afterwards. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad reaction.

It takes time, for Taeyong to accept that he might want this, that the burning under his skin he sometimes feels when Doyoung is close but not close enough, can come out in form of kissing. He thinks he could do without it; it’s not something he craves, but he’s curious, and he likes touching, and he likes touching Doyoung — so. It would be easy to treat it as just a thing they do when they’re behind closed doors and alone, but Taeyong is not stupid: he knows that if anyone sees them, there will be questions, maybe well-intentioned, but unwelcome and scary and — he isn’t ready for that.

So it starts slow, develops even slower: nuzzling, touching slightly more than before, Doyoung’s lips tantalizingly close, soft puffs of breath he feels on his neck and cheek and, one time, his ear. There are no words in those moments, but none are needed — or so Taeyong tells himself. He still doesn’t know if Doyoung also wants to kiss him, despite all the touches and cuddling and holding. He is still afraid.

And then there’s a day — a regular one, with an unexpected change of schedule that results in Taeyong sitting alone in his bed while Johnny is out, and he texts Doyoung, “come drop by~” before he can even think it through. Doyoung, when he arrives, raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting Taeyong to have had something in mind, but — there wasn't anything, it was just. A free evening with rain sprinkling on the windows, birthing a melody in Taeyong’s head, but one slow to take form; and something inside him ached to share this moment with another person. With _his_ person.

Doyoung sits down beside him, the space barely enough for two, but that's what Taeyong likes, that's what secretly delights him, and he fiddles with his hands until Doyoung catches them with his own. Taeyong looks at his friend, startled.

"You…" Doyoung starts, bites his lip. Taeyong's gaze follows the tongue darting out. Then looks Doyoung in the eye again, and knows he's been caught.

There's still fear inside him, uncertainty and shame and hesitance, but the quiet, half-dark of the room, the pitter-patter of the rain, Doyoung beside him — it all feels so safe, so disconnected from all the usual worries, that he just lets it happen. One soft kiss turns into another turns into another, Doyoung keeps holding his hands, and things Taeyong can't yet put into words come out like this, through his mouth, into the lips of his best friend.

The melody grows and blooms in his mind, until he has to part with a shaky, "sorry, sorry, please wait just a moment, I just need to—", and Doyoung looks confused and a little lost, but nods nevertheless.

That's how it starts.

*

They don’t do it often, and Taeyong doesn’t assign any special meaning to it. More often than not, they just lie together, cuddling, and he thinks he likes it the most. There is comfort in Doyoung’s touch, one that comes without words, without talking it through at all — they talk about other things, the group and the industry and the past and the future, and at some point Taeyong realises that he’s started thinking of Doyoung as something like his second-in-command, someone who will always help, who will always stand by his side. The thought is thrilling, calming and exciting all at once.

The other things happen unspoken, for the most part.

Doyoung asks him once, “What are we doing?”

“Watching… the drama you wanted to watch?” Taeyong replies, confused.

“No, but like—” Doyoung sounds hesitant now, but Taeyong is too lazy to crane his neck around and get a good look at him. “Us two, you know, cuddling and — just. All the touches.”

Some part of Taeyong wants to get defensive, because — doesn’t Doyoung also like it, doesn’t he also initiate it, but maybe, maybe these things need to be talked about as well.

“I… don’t know,” he says honestly. “I haven’t really thought about it, other than that it’s something I’m… comfortable with. I just like being close to you, but if you—” he stumbles over words, not sure how to continue.

“No, no,” Doyoung interrupts. Taeyong can feel him nod against his nape. “I like it too. I’m comfortable. That’s not it, but rather that… sometimes I think about what it means. About whether it’s… fine. Normal. You know.”

Taeyong thinks — he has discarded any notion of normalcy when he joined SM, but Doyoung… Doyoung is not like that, is he. Through the past years, Taeyong has been watching him carefully construct those walls around himself, and even if Taeyong himself doesn’t understand it, he’s proud. The way Doyoung is growing and developing seems so purposeful, like he always knows what he’s reaching for and how to get there. At times, in his darker moments, he still thinks Doyoung might leave him behind one day.

In the brighter ones, he wants to run and catch up and overtake him.

“I know you worry about a lot of things,” he says carefully. “But this… I think it’s fine if you don’t, if it just — exists. What we are, who we are. Maybe? Do you know what I mean?”

Doyoung sighs, a quiet sound.

“Maybe,” he accepts. “I’ll try to think about it that way.”

The next couple of weeks Taeyong’s expecting him to bring it up again, but Doyoung never does, and slowly, the memory of that conversation fades, buried under many others.

The other thing is that others also… notice.

Donghyuck is maybe the first one to mention anything, or at least the first one that Taeyong is aware of — he’s smirking when Taeyong wanders out of Doyoung's room one day and asking if they would like a breakfast in bed.

Growing up really did nothing to keep his demonic tendencies at bay. Taeyong waves it off, and then proceeds to grab an apple — on second thought, he grabs two and goes back to the sound of Hyuck's triumphant laughter.

Another, much more serious thing is the way Yuta watches him. Taeyong doesn’t really get what it’s about, but he starts noticing it — and Yuta never says anything, just _looks_ , like he's contemplating something deep in his mind. At some point, when he's had enough of it, Taeyong snaps, "What is it?" — and immediately regrets it.

"I didn't say anything," Yuta protests, raising his hands as if in surrender.

Taeyong ruffles his hair nervously. He doesn't like confrontations, not like this, not when it's clearly personal. "I know. Sorry, it's just… everything. Haha," he laughs mirthlessly. "I just had a feeling, that… maybe you wanted to say something."

There is short, uneasy silence, that gives Taeyong ample opportunity to ponder upon their relationship, over their friendship that's so different from anyone else. So much of it goes unspoken, so much of it is awkward and weird, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else. The understanding in Yuta's eyes is all he needs.

"I guess…" Yuta starts, uncharacteristically wavering. "I just wanted. Um. I wanted to say, if you—" he pauses for a long time, then sighs. "It’s okay. You know. You don't have to hide."

Taeyong stares at him, dumbfounded.

"Sorry?" he croaks. He keeps replaying Yuta’s words in his mind, but they still aren't making sense. "Hide what?"

Yuta is looking at him dubiously.

"That you're… that you and Doyoung. Are together," he says finally, every word carrying some unimaginable weight in his voice.

Taeyong reels back.

"We're not," he says, immediately, and it sounds so defensive, like he's not comfortable with the idea, but it's— he's just— "I mean— it's, it's not—"

"It's okay," Yuta assures him, sincerity bleeding out of him, "you don't have to lie to me, Yong-ah."

Taeyong is not lying. He doesn't mean to lie, he's saying it how it is.

He wonders what Yuta saw that made him think this, what did they do that was too much — he was certain that they only kissed without any witnesses, but then, what if—

"Yong-ah," Yuta calls, softly, and Taeyong can't bear it. "Hey. Breathe."

He's holding Taeyong's hand now, and it feels good. He supposes that Doyoung… mellowed him down like that, made him appreciate the comfort of a simple touch. It's not something he expected to come out of their… friendship, but it did, and he can't deny that it's part of him now.

"Sorry," Yuta says, thumb stroking Taeyong's hand. "I didn't wanna intrude or something, just wanted you to know that I'm on your side."

"I know," Taeyong whispers.

The conversation stays with him. Yuta doesn't try to initiate another one, and he stops looking just as much. Taeyong wonders if there's some other meaning behind it — maybe Yuta is the one who has… feelings for a band member; it wouldn't surprise him. They're all so close. His mind conjures up all those visions of how it's actually Yuta's cry for help, or that Yuta is just trying to see a fellow… what? (He can't even admit those words to himself.)

Could that be what's happening?

If any of his members wanted to come out, Taeyong would always support them, that's not a question. He can guess, even now, that some of them aren't straight, but it's hard to initiate those kinds of conversations when he himself is not sure what he is.

He should be able to talk about it with Doyoung, it's important enough to talk with his best friend, and yet — what they have feels so fragile, so fresh still, despite years of knowing each other, of growing together.

He tries, once, softly asking Doyoung what would he think if one of their members wasn't straight, and Doyoung looks at him with such fear — or is it? — in his eyes, and Taeyong doesn’t know what’s happening here, now.

"I mean— theoretically," he tries to explain, and the words feel heavy in his mouth, "if someone talked to you..."

Doyoung looks down, where their hands are almost touching on the duvet.

“If someone talked to _you_ , then it’s none of my business, I think," he says carefully. Raises his eyes. "Is it, Taeyongie?"

Taeyong doesn't know what to say. He drops his gaze, and the distance between their fingertips seems unbreachable.

"Sorry," he mutters. "It's a dumb question. Sorry," he repeats, jumping from the bed and heading for the door without another look back. "I just— I should— the studio—"

He thinks Doyoung is going to stop him, but he doesn't, and he leaves, crumbling down the wall until Youngho finds him and picks him up and makes him tea. Words spill out of Taeyong, but they're all hardly comprehensible.

Schedules work well enough in keeping him and Doyoung apart in their sudden awkwardness, and then, three days later, he comes back to the dorm to the sound of an argument from one of the rooms.

Freezing in his place, he realises that he can hear Johnny — who very rarely raises his voice at all, — and then… Doyoung. Doyoung, who doesn't even seem to be arguing, just replying faintly, voice high and so very weird.

He can't tell what they're talking about — part of him doesn't even really want to know, but he knows he will have to take care of it anyway, and so he moves closer, slowly, closer, until he's almost in front of the door to the room the sounds are coming from — and then it swings open.

Doyoung stills, one hand still on the door handle.

They stare at each other, Taeyong gathering the courage to ask what’s the matter, something inside him just knowing it can’t be good.

“Are you—” he starts, but Doyoung simply shakes his head.

"Sorry," Doyoung mouths, and raises slightly on his toes to press a kiss to Taeyong's forehead. “We can… we can talk later.”

Then he's gone.

Taeyong swallows, dumbfounded, and then comes further into the room where Johnny is sitting, facing away from the door.

"What was that?" he asks, trying to sound stern, reminding himself that he is a leader and he should take care of situations like this.

Johnny turns around slowly, and the look on his face is unreadable to Taeyong, who thought he knew Johnny inside and out.

He sighs heavily and then seems to gather himself together. “Nothing. It’s nothing, Yong-ah, don’t worry. Sorry about it. We settled it, everything is okay now.”

Taeyong watches him for a little longer, knowing he probably needs to push, but... he trusts Johnny. He’s always been someone he could rely on to make the right choices, someone he doesn’t have to watch himself with, someone he felt safe around. He wants to trust Johnny here, as well.

“Okay,” he echoes, falling onto his bed. “Okay.”

And that’s that, for a while.

When Doyoung avoids him for the next few days, Taeyong chalks it up to tiredness, to their kinda awkward conversation last week, to the nerves before their first big performances abroad — anything that might help him feel like everything’s fine, like it’s all normal.

They talk, of course, and it’s mostly fine when they’re with others, but on their own, Doyoung seems distant at first and doesn’t seem to seek out Taeyong’s touch. He also doesn’t really invite Taeyong to hang out in his room that often, not like they used to before, although he usually accepts when Taeyong asks him.

Things shift in such miniscule ways that it takes a while for Taeyong to realise. Where they would often cuddle up, they now sit side by side, and Taeyong learns to be satisfied with the brief press of their knees. Where they would often seek out time to just be on their own, nowadays there’s usually more people around them — and it’s good, he loves their members, he just misses… them. What they had. The kissing stops, and he almost forgets the feeling of Doyoung’s hand in his.

It builds in him, slowly, until one quiet night he finally asks Doyoung if something happened — if they got too close or if Taeyong did something wrong.

“No, it’s not… it’s not you,” Doyoung says softly, and Taeyong hates the sound of that. "I just… I don't think we should."

Right, Taeyong thinks. "Right," he says, "of course," he adds, feeling the bile rising up in his throat. He knew it already, that somehow Doyoung wasn’t comfortable anymore, and hearing him say it out loud is… right, but it hurts, too. He gives Doyoung a small, awkward smile, turns around and tries the door, which is closed.

"Ah," he mutters to himself, "Wrong room."

In his mind he can clearly see the pity in Doyoung's eyes, and — he doesn't want that. He flees, and Doyoung lets him.

The next day, behind the stage, nerves getting the better of him, he feels someone reach for his hand, and he knows it’s Doyoung even without taking it — he always comforts him like this. Maybe it’s Doyoung’s reassurance that they’re still okay, even if they don’t spend half the nights in the dorm cuddling. Maybe he’s overthinking it. He tries not to feel guilty as he takes the offered hand.

It's understandable, really: Doyoung doesn't want others to get the wrong idea. Taeyong understands. Doyoung has always been more sensitive when it came to public opinion.

It's fine, he knows.

Time passes, and passes some more. Inbetween comebacks, recordings, shoots and concert performances he could have only dreamed of, it’s easy to forget the intimacy that felt so precious to him. His favorite days are the ones when he’s so tired that he passes out when his head hits the pillow, whether that’s eight in the evening or six in the morning.

Time passes, and they move dorms, and now Taeyong has a shiny new room all to himself, where he can lie, awake and alone, all he wants.

It's funny, how years ago, as a trainee in a dorm full of rowdy boys, that was probably right what he wanted, and now, well.

He just has to convince himself that it’s something he still wants. Smile when others crack jokes about envying him, and not think about how much harder it is to fall asleep without someone else beside him, someone else, at the very least, breathing the same air as he is.

*

"All packed?" Doyoung calls from the door and Taeyong jumps, hitting his knee on the table.

"Ah— fuck— yeah, yeah, I just— I was taking a break—"

Doyoung is near him, suddenly, prodding his knee. Taeyong bats his hand away.

That's all the affection that Doyoung allows between them anymore — this overzealous caring of his. Taeyong's thoughts flit back to how that was exactly the thing that Youngho spoke about all those years ago and he has to suppress a laugh: if only it were that easy — if only it was just Doyoung's caring he wanted.

He still likes it, but it feels weird, almost mocking when sometimes Taeyong just wants to gather him close, just wishes he could feel something from Doyoung that isn't his incessant worrying.

"I'm fine," he says, a bit more abrasive than he should, and Doyoung backs off. Taeyong feels guilty immediately — it’s not fair, he’s just cranky right now, and taking it out on Doyoung, who always just wants the best for him.

"Yeah, I packed," he nods, backtracking, and risks a glance up at Doyoung, who is now eyeing the bed dubiously. Taeyong follows his gaze and — okay, sure, he kind of just dumped a lot of shit onto his bed, but it's fine, he's got it, he just needed a little break.

Doyoung sighs and sits down on the only free spot on the bed, and Taeyong can see in the crease of his eyebrows that there's something else he's here for besides his shitty packing habits.

Taeyong drags the silence out, rolling back and forth in his chair and poking at the small hole in his pants. He wishes he could pack them up as well — they're his favorite home pants, but he can't have the SuperM hyungs seeing him like this.

"It's gonna be okay," Doyoung says, tightly, finally.

"What?" Taeyong tries valiantly, even as he knows exactly what Doyoung means by that.

"You know," Doyoung waves his hand around, and Taeyong follows it with his eyes helplessly. "The whole thing. SuperM. Us here. You don't have to worry so much."

That, Taeyong thinks, is really rich, coming from Doyoung.

He doesn’t say that, just keeps staring at Doyoung's hands. They’re still familiar to him, just — not as familiar.

"I'm fine," he mumbles instead, and then repeats louder, "I'm fine. I'm not — I'm not that worried."

He's not worried, he's just... high-strung. Nervous and jittery by nature. It's a different thing, he knows now.

“I know you think you’re gonna come back to some small apocalypse in the dorm,” Doyoung continues, and Taeyong hmphs. “Or that somehow, I don’t even know for what reason, the sunbaenim in SuperM will think less of you.” His hands twitch in some aborted motion and then settle again. “But you’ve come this far, and this is just another step, and the experience you’ll gain there will be invaluable.”

Taeyong sighs, looks him in the eye. All he can see there is concern and care, and he’s thankful — of course he is.

“I know,” he says. It sounds whiny and dumb. “I know, Doie. Thank you.”

Doyoung stands up, lips pressed together, and pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. “You’ll do great.”

Taeyong nods and turns away, because he knows that Doyoung will leave now and some petulant part of him doesn’t want to see it.

He packs slowly, unwillingly, and sleeps some two or three hours — not bad; not good, either. The usual. 

*

He gets his first message a few moments after they land in LA. 

_Someone stole my speakers. I’m refusing to cook today, let’s see how they handle it._

While he’s staring at the text, dumbfounded, he gets a picture — kitchen looking appropriately messy, several of their members trying to contain the disaster.

Taeyong doesn’t even realise he’s smiling until Ten pokes him in the side and asks what he’s grinning about. The message is… nothing special, it's not even inquiring after him or Mark, but it's still... he still got it only minutes after they arrived. Was Doyoung watching the flight updates online? What time is it even in Korea?

He never gets the chance to check, or even reply until late that evening, because right then they get swept away into another country, another life, a new beginning.

When he finally has a free minute, he opens KakaoTalk and just stares at the message, trying to glimpse some deep hidden meaning behind it. But there’s none. It’s just a picture of the their dorm, it’s just Doyoung complaining to him. Nothing new, nothing unusual. Happens all the time.

He still can’t figure out what to reply, and in the end, just sends off a laughing emoji before falling into bed.

Doyoung keeps updating him.

 _Hyung_ , he writes, and even in text it's so weird to have Doyoung calling him that, _look at what Hyuckie made_. What follows is a picture of a very decent-looking meal and then another, of Hyuck slapping Jaehyun’s hands away from the pot.

Then, another day:

 _I made a friend. ㅋㅋㅋ_ Curious, Taeyong scrolls down, only to see Doyoung's hand petting a small furry creature.

Suddenly, there’s this wonderful trepidation inside him when he unlocks his phone in the morning, or after a practice, or an event. Ten is sending him increasingly intrigued glances, but is not saying anything, and Taeyong is grateful that Mark and Lucas are too preoccupied with the excitement of it all to pay him any attention. The sunbae— the hyungs are treating him with so much respect he feels almost unworthy, but at the same time, it’s so nice, to relax a little, to feel like he can be just a part of something bigger, instead of trying to keep everything and everyone in line. The moment he realises that, he immediately feels guilty — and somehow, that’s when another message comes.

_Don’t forget to relax. You’ve got a pool there, right? Get that sun, Taeyongie._

He looks and looks at the text, almost hypnotised, until he realises what exactly is different from the previous ones — it’s the first time Doyoung called him by his name in one of his messages.

It's weird. They haven't really texted before — there was no need, not really, not when they shared so much of their lives already. Their texts were usually short and to the point: groceries, schedules, "can you drop by?" and the like.

Although, if Taeyong thinks really hard, he can recall the messages they exchanged in the early days of their acquaintance. There was something about Dongyoung — his words — the way he positioned himself — that made Taeyong so nervous, so flutteringly scared, and he remembers now how they exchanged numbers really quickly, and he carried it in his phone like a prized possession, even though Dongyoung readily shared his phone number with other trainees, too. Taeyong couldn't help but feel special, though; it felt like Doyoung singled him out. It felt like Doyoung chose him.

Very soon, he comes back, and something in their relationship shifts, something changes, and he can't even put his finger on it until he realises — Doyoung has started seeking out his touch again.

It's maybe not the overwhelming way he expressed affection before, all those years ago, tearing down Taeyong's walls touch by touch — this is casual, so simple and easy that Taeyong doesn't even realise it's happening at first. A hand on his elbow. Fingers grazing the back of his neck. Knees knocking together. A hug, longer than usual. By themselves, all these moments seem insignificant, and it's not like they never touch each other, it just — it hasn't happened this consistently for a long time.

Moreover, his own touches suddenly feel… more welcome. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Doyoung starts leaning into them, easily, like there's nothing out of the ordinary happening, like he hasn't been the one batting Taeyong's affections away for a while now.

Taeyong never minded, but now that he gets a different treatment, something in him, a gnawing hunger, is starting to grow, is enlarging day by day, and soon, he knows, it might consume him.

As expected, he doesn't exactly find energy or time to confront Doyoung about it — and mostly, he doesn't even try, content with just… letting it be. At times, he almost convinces himself that everything's right as it should be, that the time they spent holding back is finally over, and now he can let his affection flow freely once again.

It's hard not to wonder about what it could mean, especially lying in his own bed, in his own lonely room, waiting for sleep to claim him. It's hard not to wonder what Doyoung is thinking, what he's feeling, but here, just like many years ago, Taeyong finds himself scared once again. Once again, he promises himself to wait just a little longer.

Just like that, October ends and soon it's time to leave for the first leg of their tour, and it should be scaring Taeyong more than their brief trip to Los Angeles did, but somehow, all he feels is remorse at leaving his members so soon.

Doyoung is there when they're saying goodbye — nearly all of them are, except for Donghyuck, too tired out by the long day.

Taeyong is trying not to single his best friend out, trying to give some last-minute instructions to the members, while Johnny just keeps cracking jokes about the things they'll do to their rooms in the meantime, making Mark laugh until he's gasping for breath.

"Keep them in line," Taeyong mutters to Doyoung, who offers him a hesitant grin.

"Hey, he's not the oldest here—" Yuta starts protesting, and Taeyong shuts him down with a glare.

"You're right, I am the oldest," Taeil says with a yawn from where he's nodding off against Johnny's shoulder. "And I'm giving all my responsibilities to Doyoungie."

Doyoung sighs, probably accepting his fate. Taeyong pats him on the shoulder. His hand remains there until the manager announces it's time to leave.

*

It's quiet, when they come to the dorm in the middle of the night two weeks later. Mark swears under his breathe and apologises when he realises he just automatically followed Taeyong out of the elevator.

The dorm is so silent it's almost eerie, but Taeyong manages to slip into his room unnoticed.

He decides against turning on the light, just drops down the bags, kicks off his pants, changes into a sleeping shirt— and then he sees it.

A lump in his bed, human-sized, human-shaped.

He recognises it instantly.

Slowly, as if approaching a dangerous wild animal, he comes closer to the bed. Doyoung is almost completely hidden by the thick blanket, his pink hair glinting a little in the moonlight.

Taeyong swallows, hovers uncertainly over his own bed, unsure of what to do.

He could go to Doyoung's room, maybe. Just sleep there. Maybe Doyoung just — confused their rooms. Maybe his bed is comfier. Maybe he just fancied sleeping in another bed other than his own; god knows Taeyong's sleep is often aided by the simple act of falling asleep somewhere outside of the usual.

"Taeyongie?" a sleepy voice comes. "I— um, I'm sorry—" there's ruffling, and Doyoung's face finally emerges from under the blankets, looking sleepy and tired and apologetic.

Taeyong aches.

"Go back to sleep," he says quietly, hand falling onto the duvet under which Doyoung lies.

"You go back to sleep," Doyoung mutters, which doesn't even make any sense, and then, suddenly, he's being tugged down, and— now he's half on top of Doyoung, lying awkwardly on his own bed like it doesn't even belong to him.

Doyoung just closes his eyes as if he's done here and burrows further into a mess of blankets.

"Doie—" Taeyong tries, but Doyoung shushes him.

"Sleep," he says, throwing the duvet over Taeyong half-heartedly.

In the nearly fully dark room, he can't read the expression on Doyoung's face, can't properly commit this strange vision to the memory. Instead, he fumbles until he finds Doyoung's arm with his hand, grasping it lightly.

Doyoung doesn't make any move to slip out of it; just hums softly, the way — Taeyong remembers with unwavering certainty — the way he always does when he's sleepy and content.

The sound has an almost magical effect on him, and he settles into the bed, into Doyoung's hands, and sleeps.

*

They settle into this old-new routine so easily, so seamlessly that there's almost no space for talking about their new normal. Upon his return from the other side of the globe, Taeyong's sleep is understandably even more messed up than usual, and somehow Doyoung just knows when he's awake despite his best efforts — which probably isn't that difficult, what with how they are separated by a single wall — and just appears in the doorway with his penguin in tow.

Sometimes, Taeyong visits Doyoung in his room, too, and he seems to be just as welcome as his touches, as his hands tugging Doyoung closer, wrapping around his waist, still ridiculously thin, and the last feeling before Taeyong falls asleep — not immediately, but somehow easier — is remorse over not taking care of Doyoung enough.

If others notice it — and they must notice — they don't comment. They're not trying to hide, at least, Taeyong thinks so. Doyoung doesn't seem to have any reservations about cuddling him to sleep.

Still, there are certain unspoken rules to their rediscovered intimacy: it's always the night time, or early morning — whenever Taeyong finally heads to bed. When away from home, they keep to their respective hotel rooms, but once or twice they happen to get the same one, and then, there is no question of sleeping arrangements.

They don't try to touch more than what feels natural for a sleepy embrace. For a while, Taeyong doesn't even think about it, so happy with having this he can't even imagine anything more.

But then, one night, Doyoung whispers, "I missed this," — and Taeyong freezes. A thousand questions start roaming in his head. Why, then, did he put a stop to their routine back when they were so comfortable with each other? Was it just because of how others misinterpreted their relationship? Was there something else?

"Doie?" he calls, but there's no answer.

That night, it takes him longer to fall asleep.

He doesn't come back to Doyoung's unexpected confession until a couple days later when it hits him in the middle of working in the studio. The new melody he's just managed to get down reminds him of something — something he wrote a long time ago, back when he only ever showed most of his music to the select few. Something that forever got tied to the patter of the rain on his windows, sun breaking through the clouds, the soft kisses he shared with Doyoung. Oh, god, Doyoung.

When he comes home, he finds them in the kitchen — Donghyuck, Youngho and Doyoung, murmuring and laughing intermittently. For a moment, he stops to take in the scene, looking at them, all so different but so dear to him.

Johnny notices him first, his face lighting up, and tugs on Doyoung's sleeve.

"Look who's here," Johnny whispers theatrically, and Hyuck whips his head around to see him as well.

"Wow," Doyoung says sardonically. "And it's only, what? Half past midnight. Are you feeling okay?"

Taeyong is trying very hard not to rush forward and hug him — hug all of them, suddenly overwhelmed by how much he's feeling. He’s afraid of opening his mouth, afraid of what might spill out of it, and yet, at the same time, with stunning clarity he thinks, so why? So what? What’s wrong with just putting all his emotions into the world, when they bring him so much joy?

"I'm just happy," he says, slightly jittery, feeling his limbs almost vibrating, feeling his mouth stretch into a smile. Donghyuck eyes him dubiously, Johnny looks pleased, and Doyoung — Doyoung just stares, and Taeyong can't take his gaze away from him.

He thinks, then, that he really is fine with anything and everything that Doyoung might offer him.

Doyoung, who is suddenly so close, enroaching on his space, who is tugging on his sleeve and leading him away from the kitchen and into — into Taeyong's room. Dazed, Taeyong follows him.

"What—" he says when the door closes behind them, and Doyoung's throwing his arms around him.

Stunned, he doesn't even react for a few seconds, before he realises what's happening and reaches his hands out to hug Doyoung back, closer, closer, stronger, until they're clutching onto each other as tight as they possibly can. For once, Taeyong's mind is totally blank, free of thoughts usually roaming around, blissfully empty. There's nothing but Doyoung's hands, his familiar embrace, the smell he would recognise anywhere.

"I'm sorry," Doyoung murmurs, and Taeyong can't even register it at first. "I'm sorry."

"What... what, why," he whispers in response, unable to process.

"Sorry I pushed you away," he hears and inhales in shock. "And sorry I can't— sorry that I'm—"

Doyoung muffles his words in Taeyong's shoulder, and Taeyong can think of nothing apart from how he wants nothing more than to stay like this forever.

"What do you mean," he manages to say, even as he feels some semblance of understanding dawning on him.

Doyoung breathes out, a measured, long exhale. He moves back just a little, and Taeyong relaxes his grip automatically, but Doyoung makes no attempt to fully escape the embrace.

Now, Taeyong can look him in the eye — well, sort of, considering that the only source of light is the moon peeking slightly from behind the clouds. It's hard to guess what he's seeing.

"I... I was thinking, lately," Doyoung mumbles. He bites his lip. "When you left for the the other activities, even before that, but especially then, I just. I really missed you." He lets out a small laugh. "I though I was— I thought I could let you go, but—"

"Why would you need to let me go?"

Doyoung lowers his gaze.

"It sounds silly if I say it like that. I thought — maybe — that you... that you would grow out of me, you know? Maybe not me, but... whatever we had." It's as if all Taeyong's insides have gone cold at once. Doyoung's words don't make any sense, but— but there he is, saying them. "You know, back then. What was it, three years ago? No, wait, just two — it seems like so long ago, ha, — Youngho told me you were in love with me."

Taeyong opens his mouth, but no words are coming out.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t know where Johnny’s gotten the idea. Back then, Taeyong spilled all his feelings about Doyoung to him, and — well — it probably was not a hard jump to make from things he told him.

He wishes Doyoung had thought to ask him, rather than listen to someone else, though.

"I'm not even sure I believed him, but he seemed so convinced, and he didn't even need to even say anything else, because — if there was even a small chance that I, that I was somehow... stringing you along, or something, I couldn't—" he raises his eyes, looking at Taeyong with that weirdly familiar expression: not fear, he understands now, but concern. "Maybe it was stupid, but I was suddenly so aware of what we were doing, of how it wasn't something we could continue, not when the group was becoming bigger, not when everyone was noticing, and, I mean, I was right, wasn't I? No way we could have continued anything like that."

He doesn't think he remembers how to breathe, what breathing even means, Doyoung's words crashing around him. It makes sense, in a way, but the way Doyoung looks at things is just so, so different from his own point of view.

"I think I realised, later, that it probably wasn't true — that you weren't... that Youngho was wrong. Hell, maybe I was the one in love with you. Maybe..." Doyoung pauses, shakes his head. "Not that it matters. Whatever I did, it was in the past — that’s what I thought. We were okay, after a while, right? Everything was normal. I just..."

Taeyong's hands slide down from where he was still clutching onto Doyoung's light t-shirt, and he meets Doyoung's eyes, his startled expression. Slowly, as if he can spook him away, he finds his precious hands in the dark and entangles their fingers.

His hands are the same, everything about him is the same, familiar, dear, and yet, they both have changed, too, grown and matured and transformed in ways it was hard to imagine even two, three years ago.

But even changed, why couldn't they still have this — this intimacy, this understanding?

"Why?" is all Taeyong manages to get out, and Doyoung sighs.

"I thought... I thought that you would move on— that _I_ would move on, that whatever we had, whatever we did, that it had its time and it was okay to let it go."

 _But I don't want to_ , Taeyong thinks. _I don't want to let you go._

"I don't want it either," Doyoung says, choked, startling him. "But— I just thought— isn't that selfish?"

"It's not selfish," Taeyong implores, leaning in until their foreheads are almost touching. "Why would it be selfish, Doyoungie— if we... if we both want this? If you... if you still—"

Doyoung takes a shuddering breath.

"You're my best friend," he confesses, and Taeyong trembles. "I love you. I just— I don't know if we should, if— if it's okay to just..."

Taeyong weighs his words, tries with all his might to carry on this very important conversation instead of letting the touch do the talking — something they've been content with for far too long. "I think we can decide what's okay," he says, finally. "For ourselves. Whatever happens in the future, it's still us. I... I don't think someone else, or, or some arbitrary 'should' has any weight in what we do." He offers Doyoung a small smile, forgetting that the other most likely cannot see him clearly.

"What do you want?" Doyoung whispers.

It's never been a question. There's never been a doubt, not really, and if there is one thing that somehow hasn't changed — it's this.

"I want you to stay," he says.

And Doyoung stays.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: the amazing [moony](https://twitter.com/fallinfleur/) drew the most beautiful [art](https://twitter.com/fallinfleur/status/1283211893159743489) for this fic, please check it out and shower it with praise it deserves!!
> 
> this fic was quite unexpected and strange for me, but i hope you like it. please leave a comment to let me know your thoughts!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/boldmoonwalk) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/boldmoonwalk)


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